


rise in perfect light

by intimacies



Category: BIRDMEN - 田辺イエロウ | Tanabe Yellow
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous Relationships, Circular Narrative, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimacies/pseuds/intimacies
Summary: Perhaps, in another world, things remain much the same.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> hello! 
> 
> it was a lovely & unexpected surprise to read through your prompts; we'd matched on every fandom but one, and your list of likes runs very close to my own. i'm happy that i was able to write for you (though it has been quite some time since i last wrote something i was pleased with, before this. my apologies!) & it's my hope that you enjoy this, even if only a little c:
> 
> happy yuletide! ♡
> 
>  
> 
> there are some brief canon references scattered throughout; for reference, the quotes were taken from chapters 25 & 26)

Takayama is, of course, still on the roof when Eishi comes back to find him. Eishi isn’t surprised—where else could Takayama be but here, closest to the sky without leaving the earth itself. He’s still looking up into the night when Eishi moves to stand beside Takayama, unnoticed despite his too-loud footsteps, uncertain and brash in the dark. Above, the stars seem very bright. A familiar weight settles inside Eishi’s chest at the sight, the ache of it tender and pronounced with every breath.

Eishi doesn’t believe Takayama notices this, either, and Eishi does not voice the equally familiar, disappointed relief that follows.

Instead he swallows, eyes shuttering closed once, twice, before settling to stare down at his feet, twin imprints of darker shadow holding him up, keeping him together. Takayama shifts beside him; the silence on the roof feels very loud. “Takayama,” Eishi finally begins, at the same time Takayama says: “—Happy.”

Turning to face Takayama, Eishi just stares, so Takayama clarifies:

“Are you happy?”

As if re-phrasing thought into question is enough to explain himself, because Eishi is always making Takayama explain himself, lately. Takayama tilts his head a little, looking at Eishi properly, and Eishi knows it doesn’t mean anything in particular but he can’t help feeling as if it does anyway. 

He feels, for want of better words, _seen_ , and the realisation rattles Eishi in ways he can’t possibly try to explain, let alone understand,because it just doesn’t happen, not to people like Eishi. People like Eishi aren’t ever just _seen_ because people like Eishi don’t ever let anyone in close enough to try, offering up walls where someone else might envision an absence of space, instead. 

But that’s how it is for them, lately: If Takayama sees, then Eishi understands. And Eishi finds that suits him just fine; he’s a careful person, after all, distanced and deliberating in the way he holds the world at arm’s length, observant and understanding in the way he decides _Yes, this is what I want_ or _Yes, I know exactly what it is I need._

Takayama is still looking at him, still seeing him, and for the first time in a long time Eishi notices he hasn’t stopped looking back, either. Eishi’s fingers curl together, loose fists hanging by his sides. His heart marches slow and steady in his chest. Takayama doesn’t look away from his face.

“No,” Eishi admits. The confession feels heavy in his mouth, his throat tight. “No, it’s, Takayama, I’m—.”

 

 

_“Last time, I told you not to go save people anymore, but… I started wondering if I really have the right to tie you down.”_

_“You can decide.”_

 

 

 

When the morning bell signals the beginning of another school day, Takayama’s desk is still empty. It usually is, in the mornings, despite Eishi’s best attempts at wheedling better attendance rates from Takayama. When the door opens it’s their homeroom teacher and not Takayama who walks in, and Eishi sighs, stands up and bows and sits back down again.

Takayama’s desk remains unoccupied.

Eishi doesn’t dwell on it—his desk is in front of Takayama’s, anyway, and there’s no good reason to be caught staring at a seat without anybody there.

 

 

Takayama does eventually attend class, the door sliding quietly open to signal his presence towards the end of Smith-sensei’s enthusiastic, if rather convoluted, discussion on trigonometric functions. Eishi’s only half listening by then, spinning a pen between idle fingers. It’s long enough since the door opening that Eishi assumes Takayama must have already reached his desk.

Except, instead of the scrape of a chair against flooring what Eishi hears is Takayama suddenly and abruptly announcing, “Oh. I slept in.”

A wave of titters makes its rounds throughout the classroom as Smith-sensei dryly comments, “Yes, I see that,” and Eishi narrows his eyes, peering back over his shoulder. Rather than paying attention to Smith-sense like Eishi had—well, not expected, but hoped—Takayama is staring back at Eishi, unrepentant and straightforward. And Takayama isn’t particularly talkative, but Eishi can hear what he’s trying to say all the same: _This is fine, right?_

Eishi doesn’t grace the imagined Takayama-speech with an answer, focusing back to the front of the room. He refuses to acknowledge the continued gaze at the back of his head, nudging at Eishi’s mental hackles, nor does he pay any regard to his own recalled instructions for Takayama to _At least give a believable excuse when you’re late, like sleeping in or something._

Most importantly, he utterly rejects the ridiculous, irrational impulse of his body to laugh, amusement already threatening to curve his mouth upwards, soaring flighty and restless within his ribs, his lungs.

 

 

Sagisawa sits with them during lunch, less because Eishi asked him to and more because he can no longer be bothered to ask him _not_ to. Kamoda pulls them both chairs around Takayama’s desk, where Eishi's perched, adding pieces of _katsudon_ into Takayama’s lunch whenever his rice-to-sidedish ratio drops frustratingly low. Takayama allows the handouts, smiling around his chopsticks with every bite.

“No fair, Ei-chan, I want some too,” Kamoda whines. Eishi flicks his nose.

Sagisawa grins, too, which annoys Eishi even more than anything else. “Maxed out our daily generosity quota already, Karasuma-kun?”

Regrettably, Sagisawa is beyond Eishi’s nose-flicking reach, so he just grumbles and shoves rice into his mouth, pointedly avoiding the way Sagisawa’s grin grows wider when Takayama nudges his arm gently for more _katsudon,_ Kamoda talking around a mouthful of _onigiri_ as he tells them all about this or that visitor to his family’s temple the night before.

“We’re still going ahead with later, right,” Sagisawa slides in between Kamoda’s anecdotes.

“Yes,” Eishi agrees, because he doesn’t actually hate Sagisawa.

Kamoda pumps a fist into the air. “Osu!”

There’s a _click_ from just behind Eishi, Takayama’s now-closed (and empty) lunchbox sliding against Eishi’s hip as Takayama blinks slowly at them before his head on top of his arms on his desk. Eishi shuffles forward, just a bit, leaving Takayama more room to stretch out his arms as Sagisawa directs their conversation towards a new crepe place that opened near Tsubame’s school, and they should surprise her after school and try it out together sometimes. 

Eishi hums his agreement, mostly alright with sitting and listening to Sagisawa and Kamoda, occasionally butting in before the conversation gets too far-fetched or too idiotic to cruise peacefully below Eishi’s stupidity radar. Sunshine sinks in through the window next to Takayama’s desk, seeping through Eishi’s shirt. His motions come slowly when he turns to nudge Takayama awake from a nap when lunch ends, Sagisawa waving cheerily as Kamoda follows close behind after returning their borrowed seats.

“Hmm,” Takayama says once they’re gone, and Eishi snorts as he gives a wave over his shoulder, moving back to his own desk.

 

 

There’s no real reason behind Eishi asking to be excused halfway through the last class of the day except perhaps an inclination for truancy or the sudden, erratic bursts of _gotta go go go_ Eishi feels itching under his skin, sometimes. In any case he mumbles something about the bathroom as he walks out, Machida-sensei calling resigned acceptance after him.

Eishi doesn’t actually leave school, though, stopping to grab milk from the vending machine before trodding back up the stairs to the school building’s roof. The breeze feels best up high, reaching through the slats of the wire railing, Eishi poking the straw into his milk carton as he stares out at the courtyard, the rustling leaves of the trees leading up to the school gates.

Soft, muffled tapping announces the presence of a cat near Eishi. Eishi eyes it, sipping milk as he observes, but the cat makes no movefurther or closer. There’s no collar around its neck, but it seems too at ease around Eishi to be stray. Eishi frowns. 

Reaching into his pocket for his phone, he pulls up the camera and snaps a photo of the cat, captioning it ┐(￣ヘ￣;)┌ before sending it to Umino, just because. She texts back almost immediately, even though Eishi _knows_ she’s still in class, and the tiny, decidedly caretaker-like facet of his brain tuts even as the larger, mostly indifferent part of him appreciates said speedy response: ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ.

Eishi briefly considers calling Sagisawa up here, too—animals adore him, the happy-go-lucky fool—before remembering Sagisawa will almost certainly summon Kamoda, too, and then the cat’s presence will definitely escalate into an issue Eishi would rather not deal with.

Leaning back against the railing, Eishi closes his eyes and considers the chances of the bell waking him up if he takes a nap. Then he remembers Takayama will probably find him up here whether Eishi wakes him or not, and briefly wonders whether Takayama has enough sense to haul Eishi’s bag up with him to the roof, too, and Eishi slips into sleep before he can reach any definitive conclusions.

 

 

“Ei-chan,” Kamoda sighs, equal parts exasperated and affectionate. He isn’t mad, in other words. Kamoda rarely is, at Eishi.

“Kamoda,” Eishi answers, falling into step beside Kamoda as they walk home.

“You cut class again, didn’t you? I thought you said you’d quit that—or quit doing it alone,” Kamoda continues. 

Eishi recalls the cat from the roof this afternoon, and says, with only the slightest traces of guilt, “Your grades couldn’t handle you playing hooky on top of everything else, anyhow.”

“Still,” Kamoda insists. “And how’d you get your bag, if you left before the bell?”

“Not Takayama,” Eishi says. Takayama, damn him, was a no-show, which means he’ll be sky-watching later tonight, after they’ve all met up again and caused, in spite of the best intentions, some trouble or another before heading their respective ways back to their houses.

“Huh? What’s Takayama got to do with—and that doesn’t answer the question, either, Ei-chan.”

“I know,” Eishi says, because he does, “but it’s still annoying.”

Kamoda nods, confused but accepting of Eishi’s truly pathetic excuse for tolerance, or patience. 

“Wanna grab ice cream on the way back,” he asks instead, and Eishi nods, because ice cream solves most every urgent problem (“Hunger,” Kamoda once said, “is the true enemy”), or at the very least provides Eishi a worthwhile distraction until his worries become too insistent to press down again. 

It’s an okay afternoon, all things considered, the breeze picking back up again towards the tail end as Eishi thinks back to cool skies and clear wind and the expansive and constricted heights of a school roof. 

 

_“Takayama, how was it for you when you were alone? Did you feel lonely or anything?”_

_“Right…Did I…feel anything like that?”_

 

 

In Eishi’s dreams he finds Takayama again, and everywhere around them there is nothing but the sun and the sea, light and the vast, vast sky. Takayama has wings, in this dream, and Eishi thinks _Of course, of course_ only to realise that Takayama’s not the only one. His own wings curl tight and close against his shoulders.

Takayama’s fingers reach out, barely missing Eishi’s jaw as Eishi’s wings begin to unfurl, slim and strong, similar but not an exact match for Takayama’s own.

_Takayama_ , Eishi starts to say, and Takayama dips his head. He’s smiling.

He thinks Takayama nods then, too, but then they’re flying, and Eishi doesn’t think about anything else.

 

 

_“It’s different now, right?”_

_“Yeah.”_

 

 

“—I’m lonely,” Eishi says, even though he isn’t—he _isn’t_ , not exactly—it’s just, just—

Takayama stares at him, then blinks: “Oh.”

_Oh._

Like cut string, the tension in Eishi’s hands drops away, swooping in and out of Eishi’s system, runaway cross-stitches measuring the moments between Takayama’s silence and speech. There’s a brief lapse in Eishi’s perception of what happens next, seemingly lapsing in no time at all from Takayama standing beside him to Takayama’s hands resting on his shoulders, thumbs ghosting over the skin Eishi’s shirt doesn’t hide; he never did learn to fix his collars neatly. 

Takayama’s skin feels cool against Eishi’s. Or maybe it’s Eishi who’s warm.

“Look,” Takayama says, the words fitting in his mouth less like instruction, the way they would around Eishi’s tongue, and more like a suggestion, or a question. Again, insistence without want for reciprocation: “Look.”

The quarter moon hangs above them, waning into an endless depth of stars. Eishi looks and looks and looks, finding nothing more or less than a beautiful sight. Takayama’s hands lift from his shoulders, and before he thinks to stop it Eishi reflexively trails after the disappeared touch, senses trailing after Takayama’s hands the way his ears have learned to listen for the tangible—if not audible—cadence to Takayama’s movements.

“Okay,” Eishi whispers. There isn’t anything else to say. And he can’t see Takayama with his head tipped back to the sky but he lets himself imagine Takayama’s hands aren’t far from Eishi, still, as if ready to catch Eishi from however and wherever Eishi may fall. Eishi feels his pulse gradually speed up, climbing up to sit against his throat and echo in his ears.

“Breathe,” Takayama says into the space between them, the space above them as, huffing, Eishi does. Eishi finds some strange, not unwanted semblance of comfort from the sky above and the earth below, recognising the ever-growing, almost intimate awareness of Takayama’s presence amidst Eishi’s own heartbeat knocking against his chest, heavy and bright all at once as Eishi stares up and up and up, and breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> > Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;  
> I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.  
> \- Sarah Williams, _The Old Astronomer to His Pupil_  
> 


End file.
